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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448103">The First of November</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum'>Ad_Absurdum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imaginary Fragrances [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All Saints' Day, Imaginary Authors (Perfume House), Imaginary Fragrance, M/M, Necropolitan Art, Other, Polish Tradition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ad_Absurdum/pseuds/Ad_Absurdum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Notes: </strong> burnt match, candle smoke, pine needles, chrysanthemum, liquorice, crisp pre-winter air, marble, moss<br/><strong>When to wear:</strong> Soon - when the autumn turns to winter. Although if the mood strikes you, this scent will also allow you to remember and revel in the dour sombreness of November even in the middle of summer.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imaginary Fragrances [13]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1166144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>A/N:</strong> One of the tags says <em>Polish tradition</em>, so let me explain, just in case. In short: on 1st November we go to cemeteries to visit the graves of our relatives who passed away. We light up candles (they look a bit different than what is normally thought of as a 'candle' - they're in glass containers or clay 'pots'. If you're interested, just google the images for 'znicz') and the traditional flower associated with that day is chrysanthemum. Nowadays in the shopping stalls near cemeteries you can also buy - apart from flowers, candles and matches - candies, pretzels and cotton candy. This is the awesomest holiday that there is.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Anthony, come here at once."</p>
<p>Anthony, who was six and currently standing in front of his favourite grave, admiring - as always on this particular day - the lettering on the tombstone, reluctantly turned away and trudged up to his parents. His Mum took his hand firmly in hers and led him away.</p>
<p>"You are lucky the family who owns this tomb isn't here yet. I have no idea what we would tell them."</p>
<p>"I was just passing by. I wasn't doing anything wrong." Anthony didn't understand why this was such a big deal.</p>
<p>"It's still impolite to stare."</p>
<p>His Mum was sometimes very particular about what was deemed appropriate and what was not. Anthony just liked the black marble (the stone seemed to be full of tiny stars) and the golden gothic script the family chose for the inscriptions, so he always made sure to go and look at it for at least a little bit. If anything, the family who owned the tomb should be glad it was so admired, Anthony thought.</p>
<p>"He's right, you know," Anthony's Dad spoke up, addressing his wife. "Besides, I've never seen anybody near that place on All Saints' Day. Strange because it looks well cared for. Maybe they come some other days," he mused.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't you two gang up on me."</p>
<p>Anthony's Mum looked at her son and explained, "It's not very polite to be so interested in other people's graves. It's a cemetery, not a museum where you can look at things to your heart's content."</p>
<p>"So I can't look at the gravestones here at all?"</p>
<p>"You can," Anthony's Dad reassured him, but catching his wife's frown, he amended. "Just don't do it when the family of the deceased are present. Let them pay their respects in peace. Because your mother is right, this is not exactly a museum. Even if it is just as interesting."</p>
<p>Anthony's Dad stopped for a second to admire a sculpture on one of the tombstones they were passing - a book open in the middle, with a small chubby cupid poring over it with a frown.</p>
<p>A bit odd for a graveyard - all three of them thought - but there was no accounting for people's tastes. It did look really nice, actually. Odd, but nice.</p>
<p>They moved away and walked further down the main lane where Anthony's grandparents were buried, while Anthony mulled over his Dad's words. They actually made sense so Anthony vowed to keep his Dad's advice in mind.</p>
<p>He slipped his hand from his Mum's grip and quickly ran around her to take her other hand.</p>
<p>"What are you doing?" his Mum asked, a little surprised.</p>
<p>"I want to see the Angel better."</p>
<p>They were nearing a sculpture of an angel in the middle of the cemetery. The statue was standing on a low stone platform, practically at the ground level, and to Anthony the figure always seemed very tall, though in reality it was the height of an average adult. The statue also had huge wings, flowing robes and a contemplative smile with which it stared into the distance.</p>
<p>Anthony really <em>really</em> liked those wings. They were sculpted with painstaking attention to detail which gave them an amazingly life-like appearance and Anthony thought they looked soft and pretty. Best of all, though, he liked that gentle smile playing about the Angel's lips. It showed a dimple in one marble cheek.</p>
<p>When Anthony and his parents were passing the statue by, Anthony couldn't help but smile himself. There was something infectious about the Angel's gentleness. As if the mere sight of the statue could make people happy and make them look at their fellow men and the world around with less dissatisfaction than usually.</p>
<p>Anthony turned his head, trying to keep the Angel in his sight as long as he could.</p>
<p>"Mum, what do you think the Angel is made of?"</p>
<p>"Hm? Oh, I don't know." Anthony's Mum turned to look at the sculpture. "Marble perhaps? It does look very life-like, doesn't it?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Anthony nodded with enthusiasm.</p>
<p>He may have pulled his mother's hand a bit too much, straining as he was to catch the last glimpses of the statue, or maybe Anthony's Mum simply wasn't looking where she was going, but in that moment she stumbled and would have fallen down if it wasn't for her husband catching her in time.</p>
<p>"Are you all right, Connie?"</p>
<p>"Mum?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I'm fine."</p>
<p>But when she tried to stand straight, one ankle gave up on her. "Ow!"</p>
<p>"Have you hurt yourself? Here, sit down and let me see."</p>
<p>Anthony's Dad swept his wife up and seated her on a little bench that stood just to the side of the path.</p>
<p>"I don't think it's my leg," Anthony's Mum was meanwhile saying.</p>
<p>She took off one of her shoes.</p>
<p>"It's the heel." She looked at the elegant velvet stiletto with profound distaste. "And they were supposed to be <em>high-quality and they can last years</em>," she mimicked what was obviously the saleswoman's spiel.</p>
<p>"Thank God, it's only a shoe," Anthony's Dad sighed in relief and Anthony let out the breath he was holding as well.</p>
<p>"Well, I still can't walk like this." Anthony's Mum frowned and looked at her watch. "Frank and Iris should be here soon. Iris always has a pair of trainers in her car, the jogging fanatic that she is." She smiled a little. "They should fit me."</p>
<p>The pain on Anthony's Mum face when she thought about wearing a pair of running shoes with her expensive black dress and perfectly tailored coat could probably be seen from miles away.</p>
<p>"You know what?" Anthony's Dad tapped his lip with a gloved finger, thinking out loud. "I'm pretty sure I saw a shoemaker's shop nearby. I know it sounds strange," he added when both his wife and his son looked at him in surprise. "But I swear it looked like they were open."</p>
<p>"Seriously?" Anthony's Mum hardly dared to hope.</p>
<p>"Maybe it's a new business and they want to attract customers even on a free day?" He ventured. "I think it's worth checking. They should be able to fix your shoe in a matter of minutes."</p>
<p>"All right. Come, Anthony."</p>
<p>Anthony's Mum reached for his hand, but it quickly become obvious that she could either hold onto her husband and actually walk or hold Anthony's hand and stand still.</p>
<p>Anthony noticed this as well. He could hold onto his Dad's hand. If they were free and not occupied with holding up his Mum, that is. Or he could just walk by himself - he wasn't a baby anymore - and try not to lose his parents in the crowded cemetery. To be honest, though, he had no desire whatsoever to go looking for that shoemaker and then stand around and wait till they fixed his Mum's shoe. He would much rather stay here and look at all the interesting gravestones and the Angel for longer than he was usually allowed to.</p>
<p>"Um, can I stay here instead? I promise I won't go anywhere. I can even stay on this bench."</p>
<p>Anthony's parents looked at him doubtfully.</p>
<p>"You said Uncle Frank and Aunt Iris will be here soon. So you could go and I could wait for them here." Anthony tried again.</p>
<p>His parents glanced at each other, some sort of silent communication going on between them (sometimes Anthony was convinced they could read each other's minds) and at long last Anthony's Mum sighed.</p>
<p>"I'll text Iris so they'll know where to look for you. But you won't be staying on this bench. They'll never find you here. Come."</p>
<p>"Where are we going?" Anthony asked, slightly worried his parents were going to make him stay inside cemetery's chapel, under the watchful eye of some priest or nun that happened to be there.</p>
<p>"Not far away," Anthony's Mum replied, stopping soon after. Right in front of the statue of the Angel Anthony liked so much.</p>
<p>"Now your aunt and uncle will be able to find you without any trouble. That is, if you promise to stay here."</p>
<p>Anthony's Mum looked at her son sternly, though in truth she knew very well that faced with this particular spot, Anthony wasn't going to move even an inch.</p>
<p>As predicted, Anthony's eyes shone with delight.</p>
<p>"I promise!" He grinned at the prospect of being able to admire the statue all he wanted, while he waited.</p>
<p>"Good." Anthony's Mum smiled, glancing quickly at her husband. "You know what?" she added after a moment's consideration. "Grab the Angel's hand. This way we'll be a little more sure you won't be tempted to wander off, looking for 'pretty gravestones'."</p>
<p>That last was completely uncalled for, in Anthony's opinion. Even if the thought did cross his mind, the Angel was far more interesting than the gravestones.</p>
<p>The Angel's hands weren't busy with any of the usual things - there was no Holy Bible, no lyre, not even a cross. Instead one of the hands touched the Angel's chest - maybe where the heart would be - while the other hung loosely by his side. Anthony grabbed that one, grinning happily all the while.</p>
<p>"All right, we'll be back as quick as we can," said Anthony's Dad, ushering his wife in the direction of the cemetery's gates.</p>
<p>"Don't go anywhere," his Mum added, eyeing the place where Anthony stood with a somewhat worried expression.</p>
<p>"I won't," Anthony promised. "Bye."</p>
<p>Anthony waved and watched as his parents hobbled towards the exit. Then he looked up at the Angel and grinned again.</p>
<p>It was beyond awesome. He could finally take his time and study the statue properly, see it from every angle, instead of always being hurried up by his parents. He clutched the Angel's hand tighter while he stood on his tiptoes, trying to take a closer look at Angel's face.</p>
<p>"Are you a boy or a girl?"</p>
<p>That was always a bit of a mystery to Anthony and he could never decide one way or the other.</p>
<p>The Angel of course didn't answer, but Anthony wasn't disappointed. Either way, the Angel was very pretty, so Anthony supposed he could live with not knowing for sure. Or maybe he could finally ask his parents when they came back. Yes, that seemed like a good idea.</p>
<p>Anthony took off his gloves, wanting to see if the stone was as smooth as it looked.</p>
<p>It was! And it was also slightly warm...</p>
<p>Anthony frowned - first at the statue's hand he held and then up at the Angel's face. At which point his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He could swear the Angel was looking down at him!</p>
<p>Anthony blinked. He was sure it wasn't just his imagination. The angle of the Angel's head changed subtly and he was peering at the boy clutching his hand, with the same soft smile he always wore. Only now it seemed slightly more amused.</p>
<p>Anthony glanced around to see if other people noticed the change, but quickly realised they didn't. He couldn't understand how that was possible, but was really glad nobody paid too much attention to him and the statue. It was like they had their own little secret.</p>
<p>Anthony grinned up at the Angel.</p>
<p>"I'm Anthony," he whispered, thinking it was probably high time he introduced himself. After all, you didn't just grab people - or statues - without a word of explanation. Terribly rude, that, and Anthony's parents taught him proper manners.</p>
<p>"I wish you could tell me your name," Anthony sighed, still whispering. He didn't want other people to hear their conversation. Well, one-sided conversation, which sort of meant he was speaking to himself and that would just make people look weirdly at him.</p>
<p>"Is it something long and complicated? It probably is, isn't it?" Anthony sighed again, turning to look into the distance with a melancholy gaze. He doubted he could pronounce the Angel's name even if he knew it.</p>
<p>He thought he heard a laughter somewhere in his head, but was distracted by a woman that suddenly stopped in front of him.</p>
<p>"Oh God, I finally found you." She crouched and peered into Anthony's face with concern. Her lipstick was the shade of vivid red Anthony'd never seen before and her perfumes hung like an obnoxious lily-smelling cloud around her.</p>
<p>"Um..." That was all Anthony had in the way of answer. He'd never seen this woman in his life.</p>
<p>He moved a little closer to the Angel.</p>
<p>"Oh, you don't know me, do you?" the woman spoke, reaching out to stroke Anthony's arm.</p>
<p>Anthony didn't like that very much.</p>
<p>"I'm a friend of your parents. We've met just now at the entrance and they told me they left you here. I will take care of you until they return, okay?"</p>
<p>"I was supposed to wait here for my aunt and uncle," Anthony muttered, not at all happy that he would probably be taken away from the Angel now.</p>
<p>"Well yes, of course." The woman blinked as if a little surprised by the news. "But now that I'm here, there's no need to bother them."</p>
<p>Anthony frowned. "I don't know you. Mum told me not to speak to strangers. Or go anywhere with them."</p>
<p>"Quite right." The woman nodded seriously. "Well, my name is Lisa and I've been friends with your Mum for ages. Now you know me." She smiled.</p>
<p>"Come." She took hold of Anthony's free hand. "We can take a walk around the cemetery while waiting for your Mum and Dad."</p>
<p>"Can't I wait here instead?" Anthony really <em>really</em> didn't like where this was going.</p>
<p>"Don't be silly. You'll get cold standing here. God knows how long it'll take for your parents to come back. Come." She tugged at Anthony's hand and Anthony realised with a great deal of regret that he'd have to let go of the Angel.</p>
<p>He loosened his hold on the Angel but... he couldn't let go. He looked back at his hand in confusion and saw that somehow the Angel's grip tightened and Anthony simply couldn't free his palm no matter what. Silent laughter bubbled up in Anthony's throat.</p>
<p>"Come on, let go of that statue." The woman kept tugging at Anthony's other hand with increasing impatience.</p>
<p>"I can't." Anthony laughed, facing her again.</p>
<p>"What do you mean? Of course you can, you just don't want to," she said irritated and pulled his arm even harder.</p>
<p>"Ow!" Anthony cried. That actually hurt. "Stop it! I can't and it hurts."</p>
<p>"Bullshit."</p>
<p>Anthony stopped struggling for a second, shocked by the swearword, but as the woman kept pulling his arm, now grabbing him by the shoulder, he started fighting in earnest.</p>
<p>"Let me go! I'm not going anywhere with you!"</p>
<p>Even despite the fact that the Angel's grip was pretty solid, Anthony clutched the statue's hand as if his life depended on it. He was sure now this woman was no friend of his Mum and he would not go with her anywhere if he could help it!</p>
<p>"Hey, miss, please calm down and speak to your son without shouting. This is a cemetery and people want some peace and quiet here, all right?"</p>
<p>Anthony looked up and saw some old gentleman who stopped by and was looking at their struggle with obvious displeasure.</p>
<p>"She's not my Mum!" Anthony shouted, angry that someone could even think something like that.</p>
<p>The gentleman looked suspiciously at the woman who stopped fighting with Anthony for the moment. She still kept his arm in a vice grip, though.</p>
<p>"I'm a friend of his mother and I was supposed to take him back to her. She's waiting outside and he's a very troublesome kid, aren't you?" She looked at Anthony angrily.</p>
<p>"She's lying! I was supposed to wait here for my parents. I'm not going anywhere with her!"</p>
<p>"You little--" It looked like the woman was about to slap Anthony's face but the old gentleman grabbed her arm.</p>
<p>"Hey, what are you doing? Leave that kid alone."</p>
<p>"Let me go, gramps, or I'll call the police."</p>
<p>The woman was temporarily distracted, struggling with the man and Anthony used this opportunity to free himself from her clutches. He grabbed the Angel around the waist, his other hand still in that inexplicable, protective grip.</p>
<p>"Oh yeah? Well, go ahead. We'll see what they'll have to say about you trying to kidnap this brat in broad daylight."</p>
<p>Anthony could do without being called a brat, but all in all, he was glad the old gentleman got annoyed enough and gave as good as he got.</p>
<p>The commotion attracted other people's attention and a small circle was beginning to form around the three of them. All the onlookers were backing the gentleman, though, Anthony was relieved to notice.</p>
<p>He tried to look over people's heads to see if maybe his parents were coming back, but of course he was too small and his efforts had no chance of succeeding. So when the next minute he heard his Dad's voice, demanding to know what was going on and to 'please let me and my wife through', it was like music to Anthony's ears.</p>
<p>"Mum, Dad! You're back!"</p>
<p>At this point the woman managed to free herself from the gentleman's hold, and tried to run away. She didn't make it very far. The crowd of onlookers quickly stopped her in place.</p>
<p>"Do you know her?" The old gentleman, a bit red in the face and puffing with exertion, turned to Anthony's Dad.</p>
<p>"No, I've never even seen her. You?" he asked his wife, but she only shook her head , more interested in  Anthony's wide-eyed look and the death grip on the statue.</p>
<p>"Anthony, are you okay?" She crouched beside him.</p>
<p>Anthony nodded, feeling calmer now that he had his parents in sight.</p>
<p>"Well," The old gentleman meanwhile continued, reclaiming his hold on the still struggling woman. "This woman here claimed she was a friend of the boy's mother and was supposed to bring him to her. Smart boy, didn't want to go anywhere."</p>
<p>"What?! Is that true?" Anthony's Dad looked at his son.</p>
<p>Anthony nodded quickly. To him Mum he whispered, though, "It wasn't only me. The Angel wouldn't let go of my hand, so I couldn't go anyway."</p>
<p>"Is that so?" Anthony's Mum glanced sceptically at her son's and Angel's joined hands. "But now you can pull away with no trouble." She reached and took Anthony's hand in her own. Anthony was amazed that she could do that.</p>
<p>"But I couldn't earlier, I swear!"</p>
<p>"It's okay." She hugged Anthony with all her might. "Thank God that woman didn't do anything to you."</p>
<p>"I guess the case is clear, then." The old gentleman produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, which he proceed to clasp around the woman's wrists.</p>
<p>"Hey, what the hell is this? Someone call the police!" she shouted.</p>
<p>"Oh, we'll get the police all right." The gentleman smiled grimly. "I've been a police officer all my life and in fact I can cart you off to my old station right this moment."</p>
<p>That finally silenced the woman; she might have even started to look a bit worried.</p>
<p>Despite the grandparently appearance and white hair, the old gentleman certainly still had enough strength and knew how to handle reluctant prisoners. He led the woman away, lecturing her on the penalties for attempted kidnapping.</p>
<p>"Are you all right?" Anthony's Dad squatted down to take a proper look at his son.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I'm okay now."</p>
<p>"You were very brave and very smart not to go with that stranger."</p>
<p>"The Angel didn't let me."</p>
<p>"The Angel?"</p>
<p>"Uh huh. He held my hand and wouldn't let go," Anthony answered seriously, glancing up at the statue as if expecting it to nod in agreement.</p>
<p>His Mum and Dad exchanged looks over Anthony's head.</p>
<p>"All right, if you say so."</p>
<p>Anthony's Dad got up and took his son by the hand.</p>
<p>"I think that's enough excitement for the day. Let's go back home."</p>
<p>"We won't light a candle for Grandma and Grandpa?" Anthony asked, a little disappointed.</p>
<p>"You still want to go?" Anthony's Mum asked with a bit of surprise in her voice. Anthony was just so calm after what had just happened. She herself was far from calm, but tried to keep her emotions in check. It just wouldn't do to start crying and hugging her son in the middle of the cemetery as if she never intended to let him go again. It would probably scare Anthony, to be honest.</p>
<p>"Yes. Don't you?" Anthony meanwhile was pulling on his parents hands a little, wanting to visit the family tombstone.</p>
<p>"Well, if you want to go, then let's go." Anthony's Mum sent her husband a small smile.</p>
<p>"Yay."</p>
<p>Anthony turned quickly to the Angel. "Bye for now. I'll come to see you later."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As promised, Anthony did come back. Of course, it took a bit of effort on his part - he kept asking his parents if they could visit the cemetery again until Anthony's Dad finally relented just before the Christmas holidays.</p>
<p>"All right, all right," he sighed. "We'll go. We might as well tidy up my parent's grave. Sweep off the snow or something."</p>
<p>He looked at his wife. "Want to go with us?"</p>
<p>Anthony's Mum looked through the window at the lightly falling snow. The day was bright and sunny but it was freezing outside.</p>
<p>"No, thanks." She shuddered. "I could never abide this cold weather. Make sure Anthony has his gloves and hat on. And do not let him out of your sight no matter what."</p>
<p>"I will not, don't worry." Anthony's Dad kissed his wife on the cheek. "We'll be back in an hour or two."</p>
<p>When they arrived at the cemetery, Anthony dragged his Dad right to the Angel.</p>
<p>"You really like that sculpture, huh?" Anthony's Dad was slightly worried that his son might have developed some unhealthy attachment - even stronger that before - to the statue, and maybe it was time to somehow stop this.</p>
<p>Anthony did nothing to reassure his father and ignoring the question, hugged the Angel.</p>
<p>Anthony's Dad looked around nervously but there was no one nearby and, more importantly, there had also never been any sign that said not to touch the statues. That was always a plus if someone decided to point faults in his son's behaviour.</p>
<p>Anthony, meanwhile, blissfully unaware he was doing something out of the ordinary, looked up at the Angel's face.</p>
<p>"Thank you again," he whispered. "I know you protected me, so when I grow up, I'm gonna protect you too."</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>Anthony always kept his promises - or at least always tried to - so when he grew up, he enrolled on one of the best universities to study art and history and chemistry - in short: conservation and restoration of works of art. He looked proudly at his diploma that displayed in fancy script Restoration of Stone Sculpture and Architectual Elements as his speciality. There was never any question what he would choose.</p>
<p>He often visited his home town, both when he was still a student and now that he worked for one of the most prestigious museums in the country. And each time he visited, he went to see the cemetery's Angel. He'd felt a little embarrassed at first, when he was younger, but not because people might have thought he was being weird with his attachment to the statue. They didn't think that actually, instead seeing his visits to the cemetery as completely normal professional interest.</p>
<p>No, he'd felt embarrassed because he'd finally realised he somehow developed an enormous crush on the Angel. That was so wrong on so many levels Anthony didn't know where to begin chastising himself. The worst came, though, when he got an idea to clean the statue. Not that it really needed it - the Angel was still oddly resistant to rain and soot and birds never came close to it - but it was Anthony's third year and he thought it would be a good holiday practice.</p>
<p>He should have never touched the statue, but it's easy to be smart after the fact. At that time, still only half-aware of his crush, as he kept cleaning the statue's face as gently as he could, Anthony could still swear the marble surface was warm to the touch and maybe even a bit soft. His eyes kept drifting to the Angel's lips and he let his mind wander and invent fanciful stories of what ifs. And then he realised he really wanted to kiss the Angel. First on the mouth, then behind the ear, then down the Angel's neck to the smooth chest; maybe he would lick a nipple while he was there... Did the Angel have nipples at all?</p>
<p>At that moment Anthony froze with the swab of cotton in his hand, millimetres from the Angel's cheek and what he could swore was a subtle smirk on those lips he'd just fantasised about.</p>
<p><em>Well, Anthony, you have officially gone round the bend, haven't you?</em> he said to himself, feeling his cheeks burning in utter mortification. What on Earth was he thinking? He should stop right this instant!</p>
<p>He blinked and made himself go back to work, trying with all his might not to think that he was caressing the Angel with his cotton swab. It was just cleaning, a job he did hundreds of times already, he stressed to himself. He couldn't look the Angel in the eyes.</p>
<p>The embarrassment over what was surely the most cringeworthy moment of Anthony's life lasted a few months, whenever Anthony thought of the Angel. It was close to a year before he could overcome it, rationalise his behaviour, label it as the folly of youth (even though he was barely over twenty) and move on. And visit his home town's cemetery again.</p>
<p>And look the Angel in the face.</p>
<p>He was relieved not to feel either crippling embarrassment or the urge to snog the living daylights out of the statue (which was always on the plus side and proved Anthony came back to his senses and wouldn't have to be carted off to a loony bin). Anthony shook his head, smiling at his thoughts. It was okay now. He looked at the Angel, checking the state of the marble, but it was - as always - the same. Its condition never worsened, the statue's unchanging state bringing to mind the tales of eternal life, enchanted sculptures or - more prosaically - something constant in this uncertain world.</p>
<p>"When do you want to leave tomorrow?" That was Anthony's Mum and Anthony let his thoughts fly away with the wind.</p>
<p>"Seven or eight. I'll need to be early at the airport."</p>
<p>"Will we see you next year?"</p>
<p>"I think so. Even though the British Museum wants me for a few years' contract, I'll always come back for holidays and such." Anthony smiled. "I've told you and Dad already, don't worry."</p>
<p>"We have no choice but to worry." Anthony's Dad said with amused resignation. "We're your parents."</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>Anthony's career as one of the best experts British Museum had, lasted for a good few decades, until his death. According to his wish, he was buried at the cemetery in his home town and the local authorities, proud of their famous citizen, ordered a statue to be made in his memory. The sculptor was a renowned artist, specialising in solemn and generally unfrivolous art, therefore it was a bit of a surprise to everyone when a few months later, instead of a pedestal crowned with a bust of Anthony as he looked later in his life, when he was already a professor, came a full-sized statue of a man in his twenties, maybe thirties.</p>
<p>It was decided the best place for it would be the cemetery, especially because the sculpted Anthony had some sort of flowing overcoat that with a bit of imagination could be taken for saintly robes. Similar to those of the cemetery's Angel, to tell the truth.</p>
<p>The statue of Anthony was therefore situated right beside the statue of the Angel - they somehow fit together, forming a silent guard over the graveyard.</p>
<p>Urban legend had it that the statues could sometimes be seen walking arm in arm among the graves or reading a book the chubby cupid on one of the tombstones was usually poring over. There was even one particular story that said Anthony and the Angel could sometimes be seen kissing, but that seemed too far-fetched, even for an urban legend and so was probably only a hallucination of a drunkard's mind.</p>

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  <p>* * *</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And this concludes the Imaginary Fragrances series. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing. Let these olfactory illusions distract you and amuse you when you're in need of one or the other :)</p>
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